Felonies and Misdemeanors
Connie Song
 
A murder smudged in moonlight.
Buried traces of filtered guilt.
Forgotten shriveled violets on the
crusted windowsill. It’s not her fault.
She tells herself. And anyone who’s
willing to listen. Enough blame to go
around. Stress. Work. Life interrupted.
Neglect. Abuse. Abandonment. Insanity.
But now the saintpaulia is dead.

A gift from someone she once loved.
Now he’s with another. Still no reason
for the poor violets to suffer. Did they
feel any pain? Did they thirst for drops
of rain? Did they still cling to his tender
footsteps or the scent of his cologne?
Did they wonder what they had done
wrong to make him want to leave or
were they simply not enough? There is
silence embroidered in the footsteps.
One day things will feel different.
There will be closure and peace of
mind, not just ashes
and misdemeanors
and little parts of me
smudged in moonlight.
Let him go. The moon whispers
furiously to unraveled, tangled clouds.